


A Place to Start From

by ishre_yann



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Divergence, Connor has installed genitalia because he's a curious lil bitch, Depressed Hank Anderson, Intrusive Thoughts, Lifeguard!Hank, M/M, POV Hank Anderson, PWP (or at least that's what I tell myself), Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Surfer!Connor, Virgin Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Wall Sex, but it's a glass wall so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 08:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15627030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishre_yann/pseuds/ishre_yann
Summary: Hank is a retired lifeguard who wants nothing more than to mind his own business. Only that he can't because some dumbasses are surfing and one of them ends up needing his help. Turns out, it's an android whose name is Connor, who also happens to be last year's winner of the local surfing competition, and Connor wants to thank Hank for saving his life.





	A Place to Start From

**Author's Note:**

> So my internet sucks where I'm at for the holidays, which means I can barely chat and check WordReference for translations. I know nothing of how lifeguarding works, so this is mostly my self-indulgent ass trying to be as realistic as possible.
> 
> This was inspired mostly because, me being at the seaside and my love for hot guy surfing have encountered [teal's mermaid!AU on Twitter](https://twitter.com/i/moments/1025366496489365504), which just gave me - apparently - ground for a 10 fucking K fic on these two.
> 
> English isn't my first language, and I'm bad at beta-reading. Which means you might find some discrepancies in the first half of the fic, since I decided to edit shit out when I was already ballz deep in it. My fault.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy it!!

Hank was standing under the lifeguard lookout. It was a sizzling summer day—perfect waves and just enough wind he wasn’t going to roast himself on the sand, waiting and checking on his piece of beach. He wasn’t an _actual_ lifeguard, of course. He had been in his younger years, but now it was mostly volunteering and teaching the newer lifeguards how to behave on their posts.

Hank’d seen lots of things in his past years, which meant he was one of the most qualified lifeguards. Which meant he’d do some of the jobs for them during the days.

His worn-out red swimsuit didn’t fit him anymore, so he had to use one of the standard issued ones that the lifeguard handed out, modern design, bright red. Hank felt like a fucking lighthouse if he was honest.

He’d sent away his newbie over some misinformation—which, in Hank’s case, meant the poor guy didn’t know shit about what they were doing.

“Who the fuck got you in?” Hank had asked as soon as he’d lost his temper.

“Reed?”

Hank’d sworn and shouted the guy away, before dialling Fowler’s number—which was busy, as always. He’d left a message, just to be sure Fowler got the memo and Gavin could get his ass kicked a one more time.

Now he was alone, which meant he couldn’t leave the post without a lifeguard on it. Which meant Hank was kind of regretting his surge of rage and quick temper. He could’ve at least kept the guy for the entire day. Maybe he could’ve gone himself to Fowler and have the newbie removed—or at least re-tested.

Ugh.

Nowadays androids could do lots of things, but one of them wasn’t lifeguarding. Zoom vision was handy, yes, but it was hard to catalogue every human behaviour. Lifeguards did get assigned a few, a new experiment. Something about two pairs of eyes are better than one. luckily for Hank, after Detroit’s events, everything came to a big halt.

They’d stopped any kind of androids for months until new laws were passed, and androids could benefit from the same rights human did.

Therefore, Hank wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. Not without one of those new AF700 models CyberLife was just about to release to the lifeguard.

Ugh.

Don’t get him wrong, Hank was more than happy for all the plastic pricks he now got to call living plastic pricks, but he was old and tired of any kind of new bullshit the world had yet to invent. Hank remembered joking at the bar with Andy, how history did like to repeat itself.

“Ugh,” Hank groaned, fixing his eyes on the waves.

Surfers were swimming around, chasing the waves and rushing to get back as soon as they could. This far away, Hank couldn’t properly see anything but a white-skinned guy with a dark tight swimsuit, he looked unstable on his board as he hopped on it.

The wave rolled by and Hank’s body already tensed up, hands reaching for the torpedo buoy.

The guy was already struggling as it was when the wave broke beforehand—still, it wasn’t him the issue. Hank’s eyes bolted to the _other_ surfer, who hadn’t seen the poor guy because of the waves, and was just about to crash into him. Hank could almost picture it, the way the man lost his balance and dangerously tilted too much on his side, getting in the other surfer’s way. By the time the guy was falling in the water, Hank was already running towards the shore, torpedo buoy secured to his torso and handle firmly in his hand.

Hank barely registered the chilly water washing over him as he threw himself towards the first wave and started swimming. In the distance, the other surfer had abruptly jerked his whole body, only to lose balance and crashing hard on his board—right when the wave broke and swallowed the two surfers.

The waves had him struggle, but Hank pushed through and through—dread hung over the back of his mind like a grim reminder of all the times he’d seen something like this happening. The surfer in a dark swimsuit was just a few feet away from him, clinging to his board and looking in the water. What Hank couldn’t find, was the other guy.

“Shit. Shit fuck, fuck, shit.” Hank grumbled as he dived back into the waves only to find the second surfboard a few moments later. He swam faster to reach it and then hold his breath diving back down.

Hank loved the sea—especially when it was this clear. He could see almost perfectly the body still tied to the board’s wristband, now the only thing that held it from drowning even lower. Hank held his breath and reached for the boy, hurling him up and away from the dark depths.

The guy was fucking heavy, by the way. Hank lost a one too many seconds in order to emerge and breathe again. “Fuckin’ hell,” he cursed as soon as he could speak. Because.

Around him, a few androids were already stopping their surfing in order to check on them, ask if Hank needed any help. Before Hank could realise they were androids, he just shouted to stay back—and then noticed how all three of the girls had the same face, only with assorted colours combinations.

 _What the fuck,_ Hank thought, holding the guy close and swimming back to shore.

It was easier, helped by the waves and the current, Hank was able to return to shore in almost a minute. It was only when he dragged the guy’s body up the shore he noticed the circle etched in his temple. It was an android. Fucker didn’t even need oxygen.

Hank dropped the body with a splash, throwing his hands at the sky. “How the fuck, pray tell, do you CPR androids now?” he whined to himself.

Would CPR even work? Hank doubted. It wasn’t like any android had ever needed rescuing. The LED was turned off, which meant the android had either gone into low-power or had definitely shut down. And if Hank recalled good, shut down basically meant death—and if Hank had to be honest, now he could even be persecuted for that.

“Fuck’s sake,” Hank said as he kneeled down beside the android. “Oh no, you ain’t sending me to fucking prison.”

The guy had light skin with deep brown hair, sharp features which somewhat achieved a delicate design too. Hank moved the android’s arms away from his chest, and- were those freckles? _Oh, Jesus, who gave him freckles?_ Hank noticed as he checked the android’s abdomen.

No time for that kind of question—maybe something for after he’d saved this guy’s life.

Life.

“Eughhh,” Hank let out as the holographic skin deactivated itself around the abdomen, showing a clear panel right where a human would have their stomach and digestive tract.

“Do you need assistance?” someone asked behind Hank’s back.

When Hank turned, he noticed a tall, black man, now kneeling beside Hank. He must’ve been at least 7’’ of a bodybuilder. “You know anything about these guys? I ain’t no android doctor,” Hank stuttered.

The man smiled softly, nodding. “Name’s Luther, I’m an android,” he said.

Fuck Hank, fuck him. What the fuck. “Oh, uh… So, is he dead?” Hank cut to the chase.

Luther shook his head. “Luckily not,” he said—digit pointing at the guy’s abdomen.

Hank almost forgot about the panel, which had now slid down and opened, showing a bunch of cables which—Hank imagined—carried blue blood from biocomponent to biocomponent. None of those was popped open—which apparently Luther found reassuring.

“He may have gone in low-power mode, I should be able to interface with his system,” Luther continued, pushing the pressure point on top of the plate and having it slid back closed. He then proceeded to touch the guy’s wrist, holographic skin fading into blue and then away, leaving only the white plates. So did Luther’s wrist.

Hank’d never seen it so close. He was aware of Simon, Jericho’s leader, and the way he’d “woken” up every android in Detroit. But this? This was new.

“Holy shit is that-?”

Hank was now able to hear properly the bystander’ voices, low chatter he’d barely registered since he arrived on shore. They’d gathered around them.

Hank stood up, hands gesturing the crowd away. “Shoo, let him space! Nothing to see here!” he shouted.

People finally started moving away, but still kept close to check what was going on.

Hank heard it again. “He must be—I’ve seen him on TV! That’s the RK-” someone shushed. “Dude, they’re not models anymore, c’mon!” and yet again “Have you seen the videos? He won last year's-” and then again “Oh shit you're right. 'S that Luther? Where’s Markus?” which brought all the chatter to “Could Markus be here as well?” and Hank stopped listening.

Hank turned eyes down on the guy. Now that he could focus on the guy’s face, he did look familiar—in a way celebrities did, if Hank was honest.

“Connor?” Luther called after a few seconds.

The android’s—Connor’s LED flashed red a few times, then settled on yellow as the Connor opened his eyes. Hazelnut, Hank mindlessly registered. _Wait, what?_

Connor’s eyes focused on Luther, and then Hank. “Where am I?” he asked.

As soon as Hank heard his husky voice hit, it was clear who this was. “Connor? As in, _the_ Connor?” he asked. Did he just rescue the RK800 who won last year’s surfing competition?

Hank swore. Then he swore a bit more.

“I believe there are a lot more Connors. It is a quite common name,” Connor asserted.

If Hank could’ve rolled his eyes more than he already was, they’d just come back up. “Yeah how about we get you out of here before the fucking paparazzi come crashing _my_ common ass?”

Connor’s LED flashed yellow a few more times, before settling on dim azure. Hank found Connor staring at him. “Where to, uhm…?”

“Hank, ugh, c’mon.” Hank helped Connor on his legs as politely as he could—which wasn’t much. Hank wasn’t polite, and Connor wasn’t a featherweight. “Is there, uh, somewhere you could do a system check? Just, uh, so y’know, you’re really okay.”

Connor was silent behind him. “There’s an ex-CyberLife supply store just a few minutes across the street. It should be a Jericho centre now,” Connor said—voice husky, but still soft.

This guy looked goofy, how could he be the winner of something so elite? His voice was _weird_ in a way Hank couldn’t quite place. He didn’t know whether he liked it, or he hated it—which meant Hank most likely hated it.

Anything that gave him indecision was automatically bad. Bad for Hank, of course.

“Alright, I’ll accompany you,” Hank stated.

“Mr Anderson, I assure you there is no need for you to-”

Hank halted mid-step and turned towards Connor. “How the fuck do you know my surname?” now _that_ was weird.

Connor blinked. “My original design was intended to assist police officers in their duties, I still am a working member of the local police department when I do not compete—I’m sorry, I should’ve told you my scanner rebooted and required testing.”

Uuugh.

Hank stared at Connor in mistrust—and probably a bit too much of disgust. “Sure.” He said, dryly. “Creep.”

“I should warn you too that any data I have collected has been stored as a temporary file, which means it won’t be stored-”

“Listen, hey, I don’t care about that. Alright? I just don’t want you to die on me and get fucking prison for not doing my job.”

Hank had had it.

Connor stayed quiet after that, followed Hank like a poodle—like Sumo did when Hank had his food ready. It was way better than conversation.

Luther accompanied them, and now that Hank brushed off his memory on surfing celebrities, he did look familiar too—they were known to hang out, all three of them. Connor, Markus, and Luther—the stars of last year’s competition, right after Simon had revolutionised the entire world.

The Jericho centre wasn’t as far as Hank thought, as soon as they reached the street, he spotted it right away. Making their way to there, Connor walked next to him, head tilted, and eyes focused on Hank’s face.

Hank _really_ had had it.

“May I ask you a personal question, Mr Anderson?” Connor asked.

Hank frowned, stared at Connor with confusion. “What?”

“Are you like this with everyone, or is it because I’m an android?”

Hank could _feel_ an aneurysm on its way. He groaned and kept walking.

“Are you like this with everyone, or-”

“Oh my god!” Hank rubbed his face with his hands. “I hate you, I hate everyone. Give me a break! I. Don’t. Care.”

Connor was silent once more, LED flashing yellow at an increased rate. _Fuck’s sake, tell me I haven’t broken the damn prick._

Luther didn’t comment on anything, but he did stare at Hank with a silent judgement in his eyes. Hank rolled his eyes and turned once more and resumed walking.

“I can reach the Jericho centre on my own from here, Mr Anderson.” _God. Damn it._ “I made sure to let know my legal consultant you are not to be accounted if I will shut down.”

Hank frowned, he turned to stare at Connor and shake his head. “Alright, thanks, now let’s go.” He kept going.

Connor did wait a bit, he didn’t follow right away. “I’m afraid I don’t understand—you do not look like you want to be here, Mr Anderson-”

“It’s _Hank_ god damn it, and no I don’t want to, but I still have to,” Hank groaned.

The Jericho centre greeted both of them with AC. Hank sneezed as soon as the door closed—he was still wet from the swim, and the change of temperature gave him the chills.

A dark-skinned android approached them, onyx eyes fixed on him, and then on Connor. “May I help you?” he asked, and then focused on Hank. “We don’t have much for humans, but you can have a clean towel.”

“Eh, leave it. I ain’t gonna stick around,” Hank waved him off. “This guy’s hit his head or something, he knows what happened just- let me know he’ll be alright so I can be on my way.” He couldn’t leave the post unattended, he couldn’t leave Connor without making sure he was alright.

The worst kind of deal.

“I did hit my head on my board. System diagnostic detects a malfunctioning in one of my non-vital biocomponents, although it is close to the cervical nodes,” Connor reported.

 _Proper_ diagnostics took a few minutes, way faster than Hank could’ve imagined. If it were a human, he would’ve just called an ambulance and have him go to the nearest ER, and that would’ve been that.

“Hank?”

Hank sneezed again as he turned towards Connor—why did he turn? _God damn it._ “What is it?”

Connor was sitting on a chair, cables connected to his main port, puppy eyes pointed at him. Hank was still not over the freckles.

“I’d like to… thank you, for saving my life—if that’s okay,” Connor said—voice soft and face expecting. “You do not have to accept, though.”

Hank considered refusing. He wasn’t here to gain anything, and he wasn’t here to make friends. Still, he remembered too what Fowler had told him—what his counsellor had told him.

Hank sighed. “Depends on what you have in mind, kid,” he finally let out.

Connor’s face lit up—which was… weird. But also, cute. _Fuck off Anderson, fuck you._ “No, I simply wish to offer you a drink, Hank,” he gushed tentatively.

Hank… could actually work with that. “A drink, huh?” He fake-weighted the offer—and Connor’s face changed from hope to doubt, and then again to something a bit tense. “Uh, sure, I can do drinks,” Hank said.

Connor smiled, and fuck Hank if the guy wasn’t cute. _Shit._ This was on Fowler—he did say that Hank should’ve stopped drinking, but then he didn’t say how Hank should’ve made friends.

“May I ask your phone number or e-mail?”

 _Fuck_ Hank if that didn’t hit home closer than Hank wanted. “Uh, you got a phone?” Hank asked the dumb question before he could even decide it was one.

“I don’t own a phone, but I am able to function as one,” Connor explained.

Hank blurted out his phone number without thinking too much about it. Connor’s LED flashed yellow one time, and then he was back at smiling. Hank’s heart shrunk a bit—but Hank wasn’t ready to give it a complete, honest-to-god grasp. It wasn’t fair, and Hank wasn’t even going to consider anything.

“I left you a message,” Connor said.

Hank couldn’t really know. He’d left his phone inside the duffle bag inside the lookout post. He nodded, absent-mindedly, and then checked on the other android. “Can I, uh, leave it to you? I should go back to the beach ASAP.”

The android nodded, thanked him for taking care of Connor.

“Then, uh, I’ll be on my way.” Hank tilted his head ever so slightly when saluting Connor, ready to walk away.

“Hank?”

Hank stopped, turned as slowly as he could. He hoped his awkwardness wasn’t showing as much as he felt it. Connor was smiling at him like a goddamn dog would wiggle its tail at his owner.

“Thanks for saving my life. I wish you a pleasant day.”

And that was it. Hank turned before the heat rose to his cheeks, blushing hard and puffing his cheeks. “Yeah, yeah, shut up.” He blurted out with a dismissive gesture and got out of the doors.

Once he was away from the glasses, Hank stopped to take a deep breath and get a hold of himself. “Get your fucking shit together, Anderson,” he grunted and walked back to the beach.

That day Hank did not, indeed, get his shit together.

* * *

> **(Aug 3) Connor Something:** Hi Hank, this is Connor, I’m the android you saved on the third of August 2039.
> 
> **(Aug 5) Me:** jesus aight, I kno im old but ffs not _that_ old c’mon.
> 
> **(Aug 5) Connor Something:** Apologies, I did not intend for it to be an insult.
> 
> **(Aug 5) Me:** uh no problem.
> 
> **(Aug 6) Me:** so what’s this all about? You wanted to do what exactly?
> 
> **(Aug 6) Connor Something:** May I take you out tonight, Hank?
> 
> **(Aug 7) Me:** NO
> 
> **(Aug 7) Me:** fucks sake Connor u can’t just ask ppl out like this
> 
> **(Aug 7) Connor Something:**  I’m sorry, does the above sentence have a different meaning than the literal one?
> 
> **(Aug 7) Me:** …
> 
> **(Aug 7) Me:** lets try that again, how about it?
> 
> **(Aug 7) Connor Something:** Sure.
> 
> **(Aug 7) Connor Something:** Hank would you like to meet up tonight?
> 
> **(Aug 7) Connor Something has shared his location.**
> 
> **(Aug 7) Me:** 10pm at uhhh Jimmy’s?
> 
> **(Aug 7) Connor Something:** That would be great, yes.
> 
> **(Aug 7) Me:** aight, cya 2nite
> 
> **(Aug 7) Connor Something:** See you later, Hank.

Hank sighed heavily as he dropped his phone on the couch. Sumo was right in front of the fan, stealing all his cool and fresh hair. Hank felt his whole face burning, and he was fairly sure his whole upper body was close to catching fire.

“Fuck’s sake,” Hank breathed out. “Fuck’s. Sake.”

He needed a shower. A cold one.

* * *

Hank shifted uncomfortably in his car seat as he slowly drove past Jimmy’s. He’d been looking for a place to park for almost ten minutes now and was resigning to parking somewhere along the next block when a random guy just popped out of the cars and in the street.

Hank hit the brakes.

Hank also hit the horn. Okay, well, he smashed and _held_ it there for at least a few seconds.

The guy, who was waving at him, stopped and tilted his head. Hank recognised Connor.

What the fuck was Connor doing jumping in front of a car?

Hank rolled down the window. “Do you have a fucking death wish?!” he shouted with disconcert. “The fuck are you doing?”

Hank was too old and too sober for this shit. Definitely too sober.

Connor came closer to the car, and also popped his head way too close to Hank’s, so much that Hank shied away from him. To say Hank was confused would’ve been a euphemism.

“Good evening Hank, if you are looking for a place to park, there is one just a few feet away—I was lucky to-”

“What? I gotta pay for those, why would I?”

Connor smiled, almost too innocently. “I already have thought about that.”

Hank stared. “You gotta be fucking ki-”

A car honked, and Hank remembered he was in the middle of the street. He groaned, gestured Connor to get in the damn car, and drove. There, he’d found the place Connor was talking about. They were lucky no one else got it—free parking? Already paid and all?

Hank was parking the car, Connor watching closely and meticulously like Hank was some sort of… Hank didn’t really have a definition.

“What? Never seen a car being parked?” Hank asked—voice rising with a sudden and harsh tone.

“Actually yes, I never have, it is rather interesting,” Connor admitted. “Unless…” his voice lowered by the end of it, and Connor looked thoughtful now. “Am I being inappropriate, Hank?”

Hank stopped the car once more. “Are you being- do you even listen to yourself?” Hank snapped, staring at Connor.

“Yes, I do. Shouldn’t I?”

Connor’s obliviousness to the whole conversation was frustrating and hilarious in a very, incredibly sad way at the same time. Hank sighed and breathed in. “You can watch,” he said eventually.

Ugh.

Damn him and his own soft spots for puppy eyes.

Connor’s face lit back up, happiness clear as day, and Hank almost hit the car behind before he startled himself back to focus.

Car parked, Hank kicked the door open and got out of the car. He wished it didn’t occur him to check on the rear-view mirror before locking the car. He also wished he hadn’t spent time on his outfit like it would’ve made any difference on the shitty sense of fashion he had. He wished he didn’t hope, even for a split second, to look good in it.

Why?

Why was he so fixated on this?

But more importantly, why was he being a dick about it?

Hank groaned once more, button-up shirt loose. He’d chose the classic Hawaiian pattern, black background with warm colours—a variety of palm tree leaves and anything considered tropical flora. His bermuda flax pants, same colour as the sand, weren’t maybe the best choice. But then, Hank wasn’t going to complain—and neither was Connor, right?

He made sure his slippers dragged on the concrete as he crossed the cars and got on the sidewalk. Connor was already waiting for him, his outfit rather contemporary. Hank almost choked.

Connor wore a lean crop top, charcoal grey, with a baseball jacket on. Skinny jeans with a few tears on one knee shaped Connor’s legs—long and hefty. Hank wanted to grab one of Connor’s thighs, check if they were as solid muscle as they looked. Probably not. But then, probably yes.

Androids were built to recreate human bodies, and Elijah Kamski had more than stated why he’d created hem the way he did.

“Hank?”

Hank blinked awake like he hadn’t been staring at Connor’s body the whole time. He fought, uselessly, the heat that rose in his cheeks and coughed, fixed a tie he really hadn’t and walked towards Jimmy’s.

“What’s this place anyway?” Hank asked, hoping the change of subject would help him change also his thoughts. His _fucking_ thoughts.

“This was the closest location to what I had in mind, actually,” Connor said, already ad Hank’s side.

Hank stopped so abruptly someone bumped into him and apologised as he cursed instead. “What do you mean? Can’t we just- what the fuck you didn’t tell me?”

Connor looked confused, then thoughtful again. “I believe the right word is, I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Hank stalled at that. “A surprise.” He repeated dryly.

“Would you like to go at Jimmy’s instead?” Connor asked, head tilting to one side. “I do not wish to make you uncomfortable—if a surprise would do that, please do feel free to choose somewhere else.”

Hank groaned. He knew Connor wasn’t trying to guilt-trip him into going to the goddamn place, but then Hank’s head wasn’t as good as keeping his own thoughts separate from the intrusive ones. “Alright, alright, let’s- let’s just go. You ain’t making me anything,” he reassured—and couldn’t ignore the knot in his guts.

Connor lit up again.

Hank’s heart skipped a beat.

_Fuck it._

He gestured Connor to lead the way, walked beside him as he turned around the corner and crossed the road—heading towards smaller streets. It looked cosy, Hank could hear the low, powerful beat of the basses, rhythm pumping slow and steady.

Hank hadn’t been in a club in ages. Maybe thirty solid years.

Connor guided him in what looked like a lounge bar—the early bid got them inside spending only a few bucks, with a free drink per each. It was, of course, an Android-friendly place. Although androids couldn’t really drink anything but thirium, Hank noticed some kind of experimental menu with drinks for androids too—only they weren’t really?

Hank stared at Connor—now in the dim lights, his features were softer and his eyes almost as black as the night sky. Hank saw something hungry in them, but he forced it down to his own subconscious—his need to make something work in his life besides his job.

Hank swallowed hard and focused on the bar. He ordered some whiskey—double. He needed to drink his stupid hopes into a stupor as soon as possible.

The barman brought him his drink swiftly, shuffling the bottle one time too many for Hank to follow.

Connor sat down on the stool next to Hank, posture straight and composed. “Do you like small talk, Hank?” Connor asked.

Hank frowned. What kind of question was that? “Uh, not particularly good at it, actually. Why’d you ask?”

Connor chuckled at that, nodding. “Me too—CyberLife only programmed me to be a detective assistant. Anything I’ve learned thus far; has been out of embarrassing mistakes I have made.”

Hank felt kind of bad now—Connor was clearly trying to do something, while Hank just went with his typical grumpy approach, “trying to push people away,” as his therapist had told him.

“Oh, welcome to the downward spiral,” Hank huffed. “We die like men.”

Connor’s LED flashed red for a split second. “Apologies, I believe my registration device hasn’t quite caught that.”

Hank grinned. “I guess you don’t come with memes, do you?”

Yellow now. It was an improvement. “Oh, I see,” Connor sighed, LED going back to dim azure. “You were paraphrasing.” Only then did Connor allow himself to chuckle, and he did ever so slightly Hank almost wasn’t sure he’d heard that.

“Gotta step up your game if you wanna keep up with me, kid,” Hank winked and drowned his whole drink. The alcohol burned through his throat. Hank coughed a few times. “Oof—that’s good shit right there,” he let out, throat still burning.

Connor was looking at him with somewhat academic interest and curiosity. Like Hank was some sort of interesting piece of research for his own algorithms. “Would you like one more?”

Hank was so quick to drink he’d forgotten Connor was there too—and that he was supposed to do stuff _with_ the guy, not alone. “Shit, fuck, you’re right,” he blurted out, eyes scrambling to find the androids menu. “Uh, you sure you want to try these?” he asked, eyes darting to Connor’s.

The light purple-blueish lights painted Connor’s face like he was some kind of doll—a perfect union of sharp lines and soft features. Hank wasn’t still sure whether the guy’s face was more one or the other. It looked so well-balanced it was hard to believe someone made it, that he wasn’t a product of anything higher than another automated machine.

“I’ve already ordered the most requested one,” Connor replied with a soft smile, head slightly hanging on its side and eyes warm.

Hank regretted drinking his liquor so fast. He needed another one. So he did, only to be stopped by Connor, who’d put a hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Tonight’s on me, Hank. Please,” he insisted even before Hank could refuse.

Hank frowned, he shot a glare at Connor, but eventually grunted and settled on his stool. “Alright, alright, but you aren’t paying for the heavy ones,” he stated with determination. He wasn’t going to have Connor _pay_ his drunken ass until he’d reached ethylic coma.

“Do you like drinking?”

Hank nodded, but it was slow and overly stressed. Like he didn’t want to do it, but he couldn’t lie—not about something so obvious. He hadn’t even lied to Fowler about the gun he’d started using to play Russian roulette.

“Why is that?”

 _God damn it._ “I’m an alcoholic,” he skated over. It was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth.

Connor’s LED flashed yellow almost instantly, his face dropping any hint of happiness there could’ve been a few seconds before. “I apologise, I didn’t wish to-”

“Calm down, I ain’t gonna get wasted on you,” Hank reassured. “I still have that much control left in me.”

“You make it sound as if I would be bothered by it, Hank. I am simply concerned about your health,” Connor explained.

Hank lacked anything that wasn’t a sharp remark, so he opted to keep quiet and let Connor continue.

“Is there something else you would like to do?” the android asked, head still tilted. His drink too was arrived, together with Hanks.

They both stared at the glasses like they’d were somewhat unexpected. “Apart from drinking to, uh, whatever you wanted to drink? Not really,” he mumbled.

“What about dancing?”

Hank choked on his own saliva. “I’m not big on dancing either.”

This was getting to feel increasingly like a hookup, rather than a thank-you night.

Connor pouted. Hank’s throat tightened.

“Fuck’s sake, alright. Alright! I’ll dance,” he added after a few seconds of sustained stares. He couldn’t do this—why the fuck was he even here in the first place? _God fucking damn it, Anderson._

Connor’s face curled back into a happy grin, eyes wrinkling and white teeth showing. He bounced a few times on his stool, too, Hank staring.

“Oookay. Booze time.” Hank declared, hands reaching for his drink and Connor’s and offering it to him.

“Wait!” Connor said hastily, free hand stopping Hank’s as the other held his thirium-based drink. “After the speech, Hank.”

Hank stared.

“Before the revolution, I’ve always thought as myself as a machine. Something that wasn’t alive—today it feels weird and good at the same time to say, ‘I’m alive’ because someone saved my _life,_ ” Connor’s voice was calm, not sombre, not grateful. He spoke like he was acknowledging something. “And that’s thanks to you as well, so…”

Connor raised his drink, waited for Hank to touch it with his own.

“To androids being alive, and humans considering them as such.”

“To androids and humans,” Hank shortened as he bumped Connor’s drink with his, and then proceeded to drown it all in almost one shot. Throat burning and eyes watering up a bit.

Connor drank his thirium-thingy, and as soon as he gulped the last bit, his LED flashed all kinds of colours. Hank had to reach out and hold him steady when he almost fell off the stool.

“Hey, you alright?” he asked.

It took Connor a few seconds before he could focus properly on Hank. “I’m okay,” he exhaled, but his voice was weak and confused. “I’m okay.”

Hank hesitated but eventually let go of him. “You sure? You look anything but okay to me.”

“Running diagnostics now,” Connor let him know, voice distant and low. He blinked in rapid sequence a few times, and he was done. “My biocomponents have been slowed down by 22-percent of their motor capability—I believe it’s what you’d call a simulation of what ‘to be wasted’ means. My video feed has also been altered, nothing that the system won’t fix in two hours.”

“Huh,” Hank raised his eyebrow. “Just like a good ol’ bender.”

Connor stood up and then staggered back in sitting position. “I can’t quite place the feel, to be honest,” his voice did- it did a weird sound, Hank wasn’t gonna lie. It twisted like a broken speaker.

“What- was that?” Hank asked.

Connor looked at him cluelessly. “What?”

“Uhhh, nevermind.”

Connor frowned but didn’t pry further. He tried to stand up again, and this time he at least succeeded in balancing long enough for a full minute. “Shall we?” he asked right before his balance brought his ass back on the stool.

“Calm down, cowboy, let’s wait it out a bit,” Hank laughed, voice cracking by the end of the sentence.

Connor pouted once more. “But I wanted to dance _now_ , Hank.”

Hank scratched his head, a bit harder now, and then groaned. “Alright, alright, fuck’s sake. You don’t leave my sight though, alright? Dunno if, uh, you androids can get like- uh, whatever, just don’t listen to random weirdos.”

As soon as Hank accepted, Connor was back on his feet, hanging dangerously on his side. Hank helped him, offered his shoulders as a steady grip and walked Connor towards the dancing floor. It felt weird—especially the way Connor clung to him and rested his head on Hank’s shoulder.

For a split second, it almost felt like Connor was breathing in—like he wasn’t just _simulating_ it, but actually breathing Hank. It both did wonders and disastrous things to Hank, who chase the thought away.

“Here we are,” he muttered, aware that Connor wasn’t listening to him.

He helped Connor up in front of him, but the android decided he liked Hank’s shoulder better than his poor attempts at regaining his balance. He looked at Hank like some kind of amused puppy when he found Hank’s shoulders steady—Hank knew he was still in shape, after all those years as a lifeguard.

He ruined his six pack by only drinking too much beer, but the muscles were there. Besides, it wasn’t like Connor hadn’t met Hank in his swimsuit—so why was he so surprised?

“Do you know how to dance, Hank?” Connor asked as if he’d forgotten already Hank’s reply.

Hank shook his head, and Connor laughed.

“Me neither, to be honest,” he confessed.

Hank sighed but didn’t make fun of Connor—he wasn’t _actually_ that kind of person. Connor thanked him with a soft smile, eyes searching for Hank’s and then lowering—as if shyness got the best of Connor out of sudden.

With all the blue hues, Hank wasn’t so sure, nor could he tell if Connor was blushing.

Hank didn’t know what he’d hoped for more, at that moment—whether it was his own imagination, or Connor was, indeed, blushing because of him.

They stuck to swinging at the rhythm of every song as if they all were slow dances and the DJ had announced a song specifically for couples. Hank felt like this was prom all over again—which wasn’t true because Hank hadn’t really gone to prom. He’d never be interested.

Connor ended up resting his head against Hank for so long Hank feared the android had switched to some sleep-mode. But then, how would he still be able to dance?

Time passed, and it was difficult for Hank to ignore how good Connor smelled—something delicate, clean, and not too sweet. He inhaled slowly, careful not to stir Connor from his loop of movements. He wanted to look chill.

But then, Connor had raised his head and looked Hank in the eyes. “Your heart rate is quite hasty, Hank, are you alright?” he asked.

Hank almost tripped on his own feet. “What? What do you mean?” He blinked, confusion and something similar to panic creeping in the back of his mind—which only made him look guilty, caught right in the act.

“I apologise, it’s one of my features. I can read and analyse vital signs—it wasn’t intentional, as the music is very loud, although I could detect your heart after a bit…”

Connor looked down once more.

“I, uh, I’m just-” Hank didn’t know what to say. What the fuck should he say? _Oh yeah, it’s just your smell—makes me wanna fuck you._ “It’s really hot in here.”

_Way to fucking go, Anderson._

“Is it? My sensors are still scrambled, I cannot read the room’s temperature,” Connor looked around. He sounded (and also appeared) already better than when he’d drowned his drink. “There are a lot of people, I will say.”

Like it was some sort of puzzle to decipher. Hank wasn’t good with lies—he liked to tell the truth, maybe omit part of it. It was the best way to keep everything in check.

“You feeling better?” Hank asked, hoped it’d be enough to change the subject.

Connor nodded, LED still flashing yellow every now and then. “What about you, Hank?”

Hank got goosebumps. Why did this guy have to call him by his first name and sound so goddamn inviting while doing so? “Uh, yeah, yeah. I’m good—booze’s getting there,” he coughed.

Connor tilted his head again, eyes searching for something Hank wasn’t sure they’d find—or worse, something Hank wasn’t really good at hiding. But then Connor smile grew wider and he took a step back from Hank, eyes scouting the room to check on the rest of the dancefloor.

Hank watched as Connor analysed his surroundings, and then started to imitate some of the moves from the couple next to them. Hank wasn’t sure how, but it was clear Connor’s algorithm had to be really good, if he was able to do something like this even under the influence of that thirium-thingy. It had been half an hour, maybe more, which meant Connor was still under its influence.

“C’mon Hank!” Connor encouraged, body moving to the rhythm of the music.

Hank stared for a good minute before Connor got his hands on his wrists and dragged him forward, stumbling over nothing. Hank coughed, moved, but he wasn’t as good as Connor with learning some basic moves.

He felt out of place, a feeling which was only delayed or interjected by Connor’s body. Connor moved like a cane in the wind—it was clear he wasn’t really dancing, only using basic movements to his liking and come up with a random combination.

Still, Hank’s eyes were mesmerized by how sinuous Connor’s body could be.

Hank swallowed, but whatever clogged his throat and airways wasn’t there, to begin with. Connor must’ve noticed because he stopped and inched closer, eyes searching once more.

“Hank?”

Hank let out a shaky breath but didn’t reply.

Connor didn’t insist, he didn’t pry further, but he did stare directly into Hank’s eyes—with something Hank only thought he’d imagined. Connor’s eyes were curious, in a way Hank had seen in rare occasions like Hank was something to be explored—rather than left closed and untouched.

Then, Connor inched closer—got in Hank’s personal space with little warning. Their eyes interlocked, and Hank’s breath caught. Connor was tentative with his gestures—he moved but didn’t ask. Still, Hank was sure he’d accepted anything so far out of his own will—the way Connor looked at him, his silences awaited confirmation from Hank, before Connor would do anything.

Hank’s heart was in his own throat—that was what Hank had tried to swallow down. How stupid was that?

Connor was so close, head completely cocked on one side, Hank could inhale his perfume once more without leaning in. Only he could lean in and take so much more—Connor too looked like he wanted to both take and give, and yet he didn’t rush, he waited out Hank’s confirmations as they came.

Until their lips met, and Hank let out a weak breath.

Connor’s lips were soft and a bit cooler than Hanks—they tasted of chemicals, Hank suspected it was the thirium-based drink. He breathed in, hands hovering nowhere specific. He didn’t know what to do, but it was clear this situation had come to a crossroad.

Either he kept going, or he escaped it.

Hank was painfully reminded of Connor’s presence as the kiss didn’t deepen but didn’t move anywhere but on his lips. Connor wasn’t moving—or better, he was, but he didn’t _feel_ like he knew what to do.

Hank choked a surprised sound.

Did Connor not know how to make out?

Hank put his hands on Connor’s shoulders, guided him backwards and looked him in the eye. “What are you doing?” he asked quietly. Oddly enough, he wasn’t mad or freaking out—which was somewhat of an improvement for the night.

Connor averted his eyes once more, and then he was looking at Hank with intensity and uneasiness in his features—Hank wanted to brush those away with his hand. He didn’t move.

“Connor, I ain’t judging, I just- I just want to understand,” he tried again, softly.

Connor closed his eyes, took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulder. Still, Hank didn’t push him away, nor did Connor.

“I’ve been,” Connor’s voice stopped, his LED was constantly yellow now, with some flashes of red every now and then. “I’ve been wondering what it’d feel like, to do as human do—you might call it a hookup.” Connor averted his eyes, guilt crippling at his frown lines. “I’m not sure I can be that kind of person—but I _do_ like you.”

Hank exhaled, his mind already twisting Connor’s words around, misleading him until he brought it all to a halt. “Okay,” he said hesitantly. He understood—kind of.

Connor raised his head, eyes dark and wide with confusion. “You’re- not mad?”

Hank huffed. “I’m a lot of things, but I like to think I enjoy honesty,” he reassured.

“So, what’s your- what will you do of this?”

 _Straight to the point, huh._ Hunk coughed. “I can’t say I’m a good choice—for you—but.” Now it was Hank’s time to close his eyes and take a deep breath. “I ain’t a one-night-stander anymore. Never been, to be honest.”

Connor’s expression fell a bit more into a pained expression—shy too.

“So, I dunno, we could uh, meet again. Keep it simple, if all you want to do is explore.”

What the fuck was he offering? _What the fuck are you doing, Anderson?,_ his mind reminded him.

Connor weighted his suggestion as if Hank hadn’t just offered to be friends with benefits. Like Hank wasn’t the one gnawing his own mind with insecurities and such over his own body.

“Wouldn’t it be troublesome for you?” Connor asked, head tilted—his LED was now going back to the dim azure Hank liked. It suited Connor—like the sea had a few days ahead.

Yet, Hank shook his head.

Connor’s feature relaxed altogether, slacker and looser now before his quirky smile popped up—slim lips and white teeth. “I’d like that,” he finally answered.

Hank breathed a hard, let out a deep, “Good,” and then was on Connor’s lips with a shudder.

Connor, taken aback, wasn’t quick to reply. He didn’t know how to, Hank suspected, so he showed him. as soon as he found Connor’s hand, he guided them further up on his shoulders, until Connor locked them behind Hank’s neck.

Hank hummed in approval, kiss ending with a quick smack. Hank’s was hungry for more, but he waited, held Connor close against his body and breathed in his smell—it was intoxicating, the way Connor smelled tonight like he was going just for Hank’s sanity.

Hank wasn’t sure how android biology—was it even called that?—worked but he knew a boner when he felt one. Under the skinny fabric, Connor was tightly pressed against him, which left little room for Hank’s mind to wander.

Hank stirred up, hungry hands and hungry mouth—he taught Connor how to do the same, how to welcome Hank’s tongue to lick the inside of Connor’s mouth, to let his lip be bitten and dragged away, only to let them pop back in place. Connor sighed every time Hank stroked his naked back, something about him that didn’t quite feel familiar—in the best way Hank could possibly experience.

He had to be reminded constantly that Connor wasn’t human, his reactions were the ones of a machine—a machine with feelings, a life, and more importantly, pressure sensitivity.

Hank wanted to play with that—see how much he could get Connor overly stimulated before he’d pleaded Hank to take him away.

Connor didn’t make him wait much.

By the time Hank was cupping his ass, Connor let out a desperate sound and kissed him deeply—something like desperation in the way he pushed forward and held onto Hank. “I live nearby,” he gasped for air, like he needed it, eyes closed, and lips still parted.

Everything about Connor was inviting, so much inviting Hank could barely get a hold of himself and distantly nod. “Let’s get out of here,” he agreed.

* * *

Connor’s apartment was, indeed, only one block away from the club. It was nice, something Hank could only imagine to rent. He guessed winning competitions and working as a cop would do that—buy you a nice place to crash at when in need of a good fuck.

Hank was somewhat glad the door slid shut behind them as soon as they got in. Connor’s breath was messy and laboured, Hank noticed—the more he touched, the more Connor looked and _sounded_ human.

By the time they reached the eighth floor, in the lift, Hank had broken his record—how many seconds Connor’s LED stayed yellow.

Connor was… Hank couldn’t quite place it—the way his whole body shivered and tensed when Hank touched him, how he’d ask Hank to do repeat specific movements, touches, like he didn’t mind and knew nothing of shame. It was peaceful almost, something that helped Hank too in a way. He felt less and less concerned with himself, rather than to satisfy Connor’s needs and requests.

“You think we can make it to the bed?” Connor asked, breath short and eyes ajar.

Hank chuckled, dark and low, but didn’t let go of him. “Do you want to make it to the bed?” he asked.

Connor’s eyes flew open, pupils wide—something dark twisted his look. “Did you have in mind something?”

Hank let his gaze wander, until he spotted the couch—the whole living room was a few steps lower than the other floor, and then to the kitchen, which looked as unused as he’d imagined it’d be, and lastly to the only door that led to what Hank thought of Connor’s bed. Or whatever Connor used to recharge himself.

“We got a few options,” he teased, teeth nibbling at Connor’s lips. Connor only stared, expectantly, so Hank took his cue to speak. “Living room, kitchen… You’ve got a few nice windows up here,” he breathed out. “Bedroom- I guess you’ve got a bathroom too somewhere?”

“Unused, yes,” Connor confirmed.

Hank turned back to Connor, eyes fixing on his. He squeezed Connor’s ass in his hands, head tilting with a silent question. _So, which one will it be?_

Connor exhaled hard. “How would the windows be a _place_ to fuck, Hank?” he asked, genuinely curious and lost.

Hank chuckled. “To display you, of course,” he explained—he thanked the booze he’d drank beforehand to dampen his stupid brain, closing all the nasty things out. He didn’t need them now, and he wasn’t gonna back away just because he felt like he should. “It’s kind of fun, especially since there’s other buildings nearby—guess who might be watching you, _admiring_ you.”

Connor held his breath, eyes darting at the tall glass-wall which then led to a wide angular balcony. It wouldn’t’ve been easy, to spot him, especially if they kept the lights out—still, Hank noticed how his LED flashed yellow once more, thoughts rushing god knows how fast in Connor’s processor.

“Windows,” Connor breathed out.

Hank’s dick twitched in his pants, urgency coming back to him as Connor led him around the living room. They kissed, stumbled over each other’s feet, and laughed at the general clumsiness—Connor was starting to be like a fresh new experience to Hank, something he hadn’t allowed himself to be in a long time.

His Hawaiian button-up shirt fell off as soon as Connor’s fingers found their way through. Hank hesitated to open his eyes but when he did, Connor’s eyes were still focused, still admiring, like he’d never seen anything better in his whole life.

It was true, but then, Hank’s mind reminded him that Connor could be only a few years old—his standards _were_ low, compared to the majority of most human beings. Hank wasn’t special, was he?

“Hank?”

Hank blinked, vision focusing back on Connor. “Sorry, ‘m alright,” he blurted out, but knew better than to think of it as a good lie.

Connor frowned, head tilting to his side once more—like a goddamn puppy. “You look troubled,” he started. “But I understand if you wish not to speak of it.” Hank’s heart stung at the look Connor gave him—understanding, concerned. “Do you still want to have sex with me?”

Hank nodded. “’Course I do,” he reassured. “I’m just being idiotic,” he sighed.

Connor opted to keep silent, encouraging Hank to continue.

“I’m not taking advantage of you, am I?” Hank asked without looking Connor in the eye—guilt gnawed at his insides now. “You’re sure you want this.” It should’ve been a question, but Hank couldn’t be bothered to modulate his voice so.

He almost jumped when Connor cupped his face with soft hands and delicate touches. “May I see your eyes, Hank?” he asked—and spoke only when Hank did. “I’m still bad at… expressing whatever my program didn’t allow me to,” he starts, “but I do wish to have sex with you. You saved me, and you still waited for me to be safe to go back to your duties.” His smile was soft, grateful, it hurt so much Hank almost drowned in it. “I trust you.”

Hank drew a breath in. Then another one. He nodded. “I’m not taking advantage of you,” he repeated—was he convincing? Not so much.

“You’re not,” Connor stressed, his grip strengthening a bit more. “I want this.”

Hank gulped down his guilt, forced himself to walk closer to Connor and kiss him again—Connor embraced him and held him tight. Hank calmed down, hands reaching for Connor’s back and squeezing.

Connor only tried to release some pressure when he hit the glass wall, head threw back against it and lips agape—his jacket was long gone on the floor, somewhere with Hank’s shirt, and Connor was now removing his crop top. Hank helped, because of course he would—he wanted to feel Connor’s chest, play with his nipples to see if they flushed.

Connor’s reaction was immediate—he moaned, tensed against the glass and then arched his torso. “Hank—please,” he pleaded, eyes closed, LED completely yellow.

Hank was already on Connor’s pants, dragging them down with swift pulls and letting them fall at Connor’s feet as soon as the android could kick them away.

Finally naked, Hank could appreciate all of Connor’s features. How the freckles were only sprinkled on his upper body—Connor’s shoulders, and maybe the rest of his back, his chest and then up to his face. Hank swore under his breath, appreciatively. Connor was a work of art, and whoever did design him knew it.

Connor let Hank stare, he even turned a bit—Hank keeping an eye on his expression, only to find Connor as curious as Hank was. Hank exhaled a hard breath, hands tentatively feeling Connor’s smooth skin—it was like a fever dream. Something he’d never imagined he’d get to actually experience.

The curve of Connor’s ass did wonders to Hank’s dick—he knew he should be doing a lot more than staring, but it was all he could do. “God you’re fucking beautiful,” he mumbled without realising.

Connor’s LED flashed back to the dim azure, his face shying away from Hank, only to face the glass wall and arch against it.

Hank hurriedly got out of his pants, kicked them away, and made haste—to cover Connor’s body with himself. He found a low body temperature and shivered, hands finally exploring and fondling Connor’s creases like a traveller with a map. He traced any fold and smooth surface with care, like it could break if he pressed too hard—and yet he tested too, knew how much more Connor would’ve been able to take before Hank could brake him.

Hank shivered against Connor, lips on his shoulder, sucking and biting even though he knew no marks would’ve been left the day after.

“Hank-”

Connor pushed the curve of his ass against Hank’s half-hard dick, got Hank seeing stars in the back of his eyes—and then some even when he opened them.

“Fuck Connor,” was the only thing Hank could think of in that moment. Which was lacking, and vaguely stupid.

“Hank, please… I don’t know- I don’t know-”

Hank let out a deep, dark sound—something halfway between appreciation and anticipation. “What’s that you don’t know, baby?” he asked, voice low and caressing. He wrapped his hand around Connor’s length, stroked a few times and inhaled when Connor let out a sharp moan.

“There-” Connor shuddered in his hands. “I’ve never- how do I keep this- _thing_ from stopping?” he sounded desperate and praising altogether. Hank loved it.

Hank wasn’t sure he wanted to, though.

“I keep touching, and you keep making those sounds for me,” Hank instructed, gripped better Connor’s dick and stroked with intention.

Connor arched more against him. “Please-”

Hank swore under his breath. “Fuck Connor, tell me you’ve got lube and condoms—I need-”

Connor shook his head. “I’m- fully equipped to-”

“Hell no, human talk or no fucking sex,” he threatened.

Connor whined, especially when Hank stopped masturbating him—how could he do that?—and tightened his grip on Connor’s leaking dick. “I’ve asked- they installed everything- everything a tracy would- have.”

“Jesus fuck, I’ve never rented a tracy—I’ve got no goddamn clue what they do,” Hank groaned.

Connor struggled to keep his voice together, Hank went back to stroking him, the other hand caressing his balls and massaging them. “Self- self-lubrification and sterilisation, and— _fuck_ —a specific algorithm for- for simulating intercourse’s sensations,” he whimpered. “Hank- Hank please, I can’t-”

“You’re still using overly-complicated words,” Hank stated. He was clearly doing something wrong. He didn’t want Connor to _think._ Then, something else popped. “Shit, they make you feel pain too?”

Connor nodded. “Not- not fully. There’s—god _Hank,_ please don’t stop- don’t stop.” Connor voice got interrupted once more by a pained sound, Hank _loved_ those sounds. “I can modulate it,” he continued, “there’s a limit set for- when I first initialise it. I can’t- I can’t feel too much pain.”

“Can I fuck you?”

Connor nodded again. “Y- yes please, fuck, Hank- please, fuck me.”

Hank grunted. “Don’t fucking move,” he ordered and stepped away just enough to have some space he could fill with his hand. He spit on his palm and then took himself, gave a few harsh strokes.

Connor was compliant, way too meek and obeying to be real. Hank couldn’t think of anything but praises or swearwords. He wanted to give Connor something better than dirty talk and shitty edging—he wanted Connor to enjoy himself, to think of tonight and _want_ it to spend it all over again with Hank.

Connor made another desperate sound—ass arching up and legs now spreading. He leaned against the glass wall like he didn’t care who might’ve seen him. Nobody would’ve been able to anyway, the lights were off, and the nearest building was sixty feet away.

In the dim lights of the city, Connor looked like a delirious dream Hank was having, possibly drunk and alone—but when he touched him... _oh_ he was there, solid flesh under Hank’s digits.

Hank set two fingers to slide between Connor’s cheeks, down until he found the small ring of muscles—now strained and tense. Connor was shaking ever so slightly underneath him, now suddenly quiet as his focus shifted on Hank’s fingers, how they massaged and then pressed inside of him.

Hank was thrilling as the first digit slid in, Connor letting out the smallest sound of both surprise and disconcert. He pushed slightly, testing Connor’s insides—how loose they could get and how much they already were. He rotated his wrist, changed the angle, and pushed a bit deeper—fucked Connor with his index finger slowly, so he would adjust. And Connor did, his responses—whatever the damned algorithm was—were eager, wet sounds and short sharp breaths.

Connor begged too, but Hank barely registered the first times as he snapped back to focus after a wet, “Hank- more.”

Hank obliged, mesmerised by how reactive androids could be. This was nothing like any other sex he’d had in- well, forever.

The second digit was easier to slide in, Connor already self-lubricating in abundancy. Hank fucked him a bit harder, a bit faster, until he’d find something familiar—the small bump he’d have throbbing in seconds, if brushed. So he did, curled his fingers and tested Connor’s prostate—and Connor cried, voice buzzing and LED flashing red almost immediately.

Hank stopped. “You alright?” he checked in, heavy breaths and heavy voice.

It took Connor a few seconds to reply, eyes wide with surprise and mouth open—he nodded. “What did you-?”

“You got a prostate installed, baby, I’m only delivering,” he replied, lips curled in a wicked grin. Hank hadn’t felt this much thirsty for sex in a while—and Connor was bringing back so much more than his curiosity.

“Do it again,” Connor breathed, eyes closed and LED back to yellow.

Hank chuckled, low and vibrating, and did anything but. As he slid his fingers away from Connor, he’d ignored Connor’s complaints—how he whined and pushed his ass up and towards Hank, like that would help him give chase to Hank’s digits.

“Be a good boy, now,” Hank warned. “I have yet to fuck you, Connor.”

That did the trick. Connor arched back against the window and spread his legs a bit wider, inviting, voice cracking. “I will- please Hank, _please._ ”

Hank let out a low and heavy, “Fuck,” before grabbing Connor’s hips and positioning himself between his legs. He used his thumbs to part Connor’s ass, let his dick rest between his cheeks and then pressed—and pushed, letting Connor’s cheeks masturbate him instead of Hank’s hands.

Connor whined, wet and lost, like he couldn’t decide whether he liked this or wanted more and _now._

Hank wasn’t sure either—he loved the feel of it, how it built anticipation for what had yet to come, but when should he really stop?

Turned out, when Connor pushed back so much his cheeks got pressed completely against Hank’s groins. It gave Hank chills, and a pretty vivid idea of how much he wanted to bury his dick inside Connor.

Hank arched back but didn’t dare to move any step away. He couldn’t.

Connor looked like he wanted to spread his legs even more but didn’t, only because that would’ve gotten his ass away from Hank’s dick. So Hank pushed in, hand tight on his dick, making sure he the pressure would go _right_ against Connor’s ass—until warmth and tightness swallowed him.

Hank grunted as he fucked his way into Connor, spread and ready. Connor’s receptors had to be working, because whenever he’d push too far or too suddenly, Connor winced and jerked slightly. Hank took his time, and care, craving out a space for himself inside Connor.

What did the trick, though, was Connor calling his name like a goddamn prayer.

“Fuck Connor, you’re so tight,” Hank groaned, voice cracking into a moan. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Connor was holding his hips steady, pushing back to balance Hank’s pushes—he said something, but Hank couldn’t make out any of it.

“Try again, kid,” Hank said. He stopped moving his hips, but he was soon to cover Connor’s back in a warm embrace, hand reaching for Connor’s cock—a firm grip pumping him.

Connor let out a broken sound, something pained rather than pleasured. “No- Hank don’t- I can’t-” But Hank only pumped harder, bit into the crook of Connor’s neck and then sucked on his earlobe. “Shit- Hank, please-”

“Still don’t know what you said,” Hank teased.

“You’re- I can’t focus like this,” Connor complained, insides painfully swallowing Hank’s dick. _“Fuck,_ I can- I can release s- some pressure. If- too tight-”

Hank drove his hips against Connor’s ass, until he could feel it against his own groin, got all the remaining inches he could. Connor’s voice broke into another uncontrolled moan.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Connor,” Hank threatened, voice heavy with laboured breaths.

Connor nodded, unable to modulate or use his speech synthesizer.

Hank backed away and then drove back in, hands tight on Connor’s waist, holding him tight and steady. Connor cried, arched but his body couldn’t more than that. Hank bit down against Connor’s shoulder, called his name in a surge of pleasure, wet sounds and skin against skin filling his ears—Connor was a whimpering mess beneath him, hands sprawled, and head pushed against the window—his hair a mess of curls and locks.

It didn’t last long—Hank couldn’t last that long. He felt it right when Connor tightened against him, voice cracking and raising. He came with a sharp burst of pain mixed with pleasure, hips skipping pushes every now and then. He rode his orgasm and helped Connor through his—body heavy and uncoordinated.

Hank slowly eased in stillness, come dripping down Connor’s hole—down his legs and Hank’s crotch. His whole body was dizzy with the aftermath, still high on endorphin—and so was Connor’s, judging by the mesmerised look on his face.

Hank helped Connor back on his feet, caught him when his balance tipped off and cradled him in his arms. Connor was resting his head on Hank’s shoulder, hair brushing lightly against Hank’s jaw—so simple that Hank couldn’t stop himself. He kissed Connor’s temple, right near his LED—and then smiled when hazel eyes peeked through thick eyelashes, stared at him. Hank caught Connor’s smile with the corner of his eye, out of focus, too fixated on Connor’s eyes to do anything but reply with a same curl at the edge of his own mouth.

“You okay?” Hank asked after a few seconds of silence.

Connor nodded, a tired but affirmative, “M-mh,” his voice was huskier than usual, as if he was about to lose it altogether.

Hank chuckled, inhaled once more—and found Connor’s smell of sex was way different than any other human’s. It gave Hank the chills—it was dangerously inviting. Something Hank wanted to come home to.

Connor sighed. “That was… really good,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

Hank snorted. “Well, I guess I’m still good at something,” he joked.

“Is it okay if we shower together?” Connor asked, head straightening so he could take a better look at Hank. “I have never used one.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Ugh, what am I? Your nana?”

Connor pouted.

“Oh my god, fuck you-”

“Please, Hank?”

Hank groaned. “Alright, alright, I’m showering with you.”

Connor’s face lit up again—the _fucker—_ and kissed Hank’s cheek, only to bounce happily towards the bathroom. “It’s my first time in this one too!” Hank heard, echo-y and distant.

Hank rolled his eyes, rubbed his face for a straight minute before Connor was calling him once more. He was done—he was so done this time. Whatever he’d gotten himself into, Connor would’ve both ruined it _and_ made it the best time of his life.

Hank hated it.

**Author's Note:**

> OOOOOF.
> 
> Made it in one piece? I love you nonetheless.
> 
> As always, I am on [Tumblr](http://hikku.tumblr.com)!! You can come freak out with me whenever you want <3
> 
> Comments and spite fuel me, so if you did find anything you wanna comment on, please do!!!!! I'd be so happy!!


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